Of Gods and Monsters
by sugarmilk
Summary: There was nothing like taking an old friend in; especially when they needed help. However, Sam and Dean get more than they bargained for when that friend wants to return to the hunting life. Dean is distraught and Sam is sympathetic. Will the Winchester's be able to convince them to go back to their old life, or will their attempts at convincing fall flat?
1. Someone You'd Admire

**So this was initially inspired off of a dream I had awhile back.**  
**I decided to spruce it up a bit more and add depth and story. :)**  
**  
Honestly, I haven't decided much on the placement of when this all takes place.  
The story is sort of it's own branch/AU, but would probably be sometime during season 8.**

**Warnings: blood, gore, language.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural, except for my character, Charlotte.**

****Updates will always be on Fridays and Wednesdays****

* * *

Blood sprayed everywhere. It splattered against a nearby wall and spotted anything else that was close. The blade had swiped clean through the soft throat of the witch with a satisfying ease. Charlotte was rather taken aback at how easy this whole hunt had been. She was a bit weary though because 'easy' meant that there was something much worse below the surface.

She let the body drop with a hard _thump_ on the wood flooring, and turned to look for her two companions. They'd reluctantly brought her along. Actually, Charlotte had to convince Dean to allow her a weapon, and with a heavy sigh he had placed a dagger in her hand. The weapon sat well and balanced nicely; it wasn't too big, and the pommel was comfortable in her palm.

Charlotte wasn't very good with guns, but given a decent blade and she could kill most anything. She at least had speed and accuracy on her side, if nothing else.

The house they were in was a good three stories and had a basement. Somehow they had gotten separated. Well… _somehow_ isn't exactly the best way to describe the situation. More of, Charlotte ran off and chased after one of the witches while the Winchester's got tossed around by another. She just couldn't let the other witch get away. Plus, she knew Sam and Dean would be fine without her. They were notoriously the best of the best.

She stayed quiet, listening for any noise that would indicate their whereabouts. Her shoes tapped softly along a rug, which lined the hallway that she was walking down. That's when she heard a very distinct male voice: low and gravelly and sounding thoroughly pissed – _Dean_.

Charlotte quickly, but silently, skittered down the hallway and peeked around the doorframe. There they were, in all their tall and flannel glory, _the Winchester's_ and they were pinned against a wall with rather peeved expressions. The witch, who wore a pleased grin, continued to banter back and forth with them. If Sam or Dean noticed Charlotte's presence, neither one of them indicated that they did.

Carefully, she began inching her way toward the witch. Charlotte was sure not to bump into anything, and her fist clenched tighter around the dagger – _thud! _Suddenly_, _her head slammed against the rough wood floor. For a while, she laid there dizzy and gripped at the side of her temple, while her vision dotted with white spots.

"Fuck…" Charlotte muttered under her breath, before picking her gaze up toward the witch.

"You think I didn't notice you? Sly little bitch," The witch growled out, tilting their head, "I should kill these dumb bastards right in front of you. Wouldn't that be fun to watch, hm?"

Charlotte clenched her jaw, and her stare never wavered. "She bled really nicely, you know. Her blood painted the walls and it was _beautiful_."

The witch froze, a look of disgust and pain wrenching their features, "What the hell did you just say?"

"Did I stutter, or are you deaf?"

"Watch this. Watch this trick," The witch jeered, and dropped Sam and Dean back onto their feet, but neither one of them could move. With a slight wave of their fingers, the Winchester's had their guns in hand and were forcibly bringing the guns to the sides of their heads.

"Char…" Sam bit out. His face tensed up when the cold steel was pushed into his hair, and pressed against his skull.

Her stomach dropped. If she moved, they were dead. If she didn't move, they were dead. No matter what, they were all screwed.

"Wait, wait, please, don't," Charlotte changed tactics, and put on a pleading face. If she could only get in the right position, then she could toss the knife directly into the witch's throat. However, she was still flat on the floor, and Charlotte felt that any sudden movement would mean the end.

The witch kept their eyes on Sam and Dean, clearly taking enjoyment at watching them squirm. With a wormy and sickly sweet voice, the witch drawled out, "Sweetheart, I can't wait forever."

Charlotte slowly sat up onto her haunches. Now she had a clear shot of the witch's throat. _Finally_. She blinked over at the Winchester's, and indicated for them to start talking. If there was anything to go by, the witch liked to listen to themselves talk and enjoyed taunting anyone who would listen. Dean was the first to start barking words at the witch, distracting them from Charlotte for the time being.

Without another moment's hesitation, Charlotte darted up and tossed the dagger deep into the witch's throat. She'd sunk the blade all the way up to the hilt; the point stuck out the other side, glistening with dark blood. The witch's eyes were wide with disbelief, and their throat clicked as they tried to talk, before thudding to the ground; blood slowly pooled around the lifeless body, thick and oozing.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Dean snapped, shaking a finger at Charlotte as he stepped toward her. Sam had put his gun away, but Dean, with an annoyed sneer on his face, still gripped his gun firmly.

"You're alive. I'm alive." Charlotte retorted and she stalked up to the witch, yanking out the blade with a meaty _shink_. She pointed the dagger at Dean, her face stern, "_Don't_ lecture me."

"You could've got us _killed_." Dean persisted, his brows crinkled together and his mouth set in a hard line.

"Just because I've been out of the game for a few months…" Charlotte began, but dropped what she was going to say. There was no use in arguing. Either way, Dean was going to be pissed with her. "Whatever. I'm going back to the car." She stormed off, boots clicking mercilessly behind her, and she held the dagger in a death grip.

"Are you alright…?" Sam asked, once he'd caught up with her, "You've got blood…"

"It's not mine, don't worry," Charlotte relieved a soft smile, glancing up at him. "If anything, I should be asking if you're okay." Quietly, she added, "I'm sorry about all of that. I was really careless."

"Oh, ah," Sam frowned slightly, "It's okay. I mean, we did make it out alive… ah, Dean just, y'know… clings onto what _could've_ happened. He does care about you."

Charlotte nodded in understanding, before changing the subject as they reached the car, "I think I need a good night's sleep, honestly."

* * *

The drive back to the bunker had been an awkward and quiet one; the only sounds greeting their ears was the growl of the Impala and whatever old-age music Dean had playing. Charlotte was too tired to care, or even bother with conversation. She'd nestled in the backseat and pressed her head against the window, peering outside at the blurring scenery. Sam and Dean were speaking in hushed voices; Dean's was grumbly, like an angry and grinding song, while Sam's was gentle, like a soft and sad lullaby.

Before long, they had reached their destination and Charlotte was lying in bed, feeling half-dead from exhaustion and hunger. Though, no matter how tired she was… she just couldn't seem to fall asleep. Instead, Charlotte stared at the ceiling while her eyes burned and her stomach growled.

There was a gentle _click_ as the door, to her temporary room, opened.

Charlotte didn't even budge, "Yeah?"

"You hungry?"

That caught her attention, and she sat up on her elbows, "_Starving_."

Dean came sauntering over, and he was holding a paper bag in his hand, "Made a late night food run. Hope you're okay with hamburgers…"

"Definitely," Charlotte said, a corner of her mouth tilted up. She sat into a crossed-legged position and made room for Dean to sit down on the bed. He started digging around in the bag and pulled out a few burgers, and set them between himself and Charlotte.

They both dug in after that and, once they had had their fill, Dean finally mumbled out, "I'm… I'm sorry about earlier. About the way I acted."

At this point, Charlotte was sprawled out on the bed, and her head was rested on a pillow. Her brain was hazy from sleep and being full, her eyelids drooping. She waved a hand dismissively and smiled, "It's alright. I was being an idiot. But hey, I killed that first witch all by myself. You have to admit that was pretty rad."

Dean smirked, "Yeah, rad." He clambered to his feet and collected all of the trash, before making his way toward the door.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?" He paused, glancing back at Charlotte with a curious look.

"Thanks… for caring."

"Uh, yeah… sure." He gave an uneasy laugh, scratching at the nape of his neck.

"Oh, and Dean?"

"Yes…?"

"Good night."

"Night, Char." After that, he left with a resounding _click_.


	2. Sigh No More

**I've found listening to The Lumineers, Now, Now, and Fleet Foxes really helps with writing this story. B)**

**Warnings: language, mentions of death/gore.**

* * *

Breakfast consisted of eggs and toast that Charlotte had made for herself. She sat at a table and quietly ate while the grogginess of sleep still clung to her mind. Her head was propped up by the flat of her palm, and she slowly chewed through some toast. Last night had definitely taken a toll on her, and every bit of her body ached.

Sam had come out about an hour later, and looked thoroughly surprised to see her awake, "Hey Char. What're you doing up this early?"

"My brain just kinda… clicked awake," She sighed, rubbing at her eyes before finishing off the last of her breakfast. "I need to take a shower. I hope you saved some warm water?"

"Oh yeah, there's plenty," Sam laughed softly while scrubbing a towel through his long, tousled hair. "Dean's still asleep. So you better get in there quick. _Oh_… I wanted to ask you something… about last night…"

"Hm?"

"When you were describing about killing that witch… are you sure you're okay?"

She gave him a quizzical look, an eyebrow raised. "Uh, yeah… I am. I promise."

"Just… making sure," Sam smiled half-heartedly, and then sidestepped toward the kitchen.

Charlotte took care of her dishes and headed toward the shower. Today, she was planning on going back home. She felt guilty for staying with the Winchester's. They'd been nice enough to let her stay at their place _and _tag along on a hunt. Not only that, but Dean had brought her something to eat which was more than she could ask for.

After standing in the warmth of the shower for a good half hour, contemplating about how badly she should leave, Charlotte eventually dressed herself in some casual jeans and a large sweater. Much to her painful dismay, she'd run directly into Dean when she had stepped out of the bathroom, and planted face first into his chest.

"Fuck, sorry, sorry," Charlotte gasped out, clutching her face. "Ow, ow, ow…"

"I think I hurt you more than you hurt me," Dean chuckled as he slipped into the bathroom.

Charlotte shook her head and lightly punched his arm, "Shut up and get cleaned. You stink."

Once Dean had officially disappeared, Charlotte made her way back to where Sam was seated. He was typing away at his computer and diligently looking over some books as well. Charlotte plopped herself right beside him, and peered over his arm at what he was doing. From what she saw… it looked like he was researching another case.

"Vampires?"

"Mmm, yeah," Sam replied absent-mindedly.

Charlotte chewed her bottom lip. The urge to help out and join them was growing stronger by the minute. She had to refrain though, because she couldn't fall back into this life again, especially after… no, after what had happened, Charlotte _needed_ the distraction. She was twenty-eight-years-old and had nothing to return to. What had been there… well, that had been ripped away a month ago.

"Can I help?" Charlotte asked timidly.

Sam peered over at her with an incredulous look, "You can't be serious?"

"_What?_" She asked in a defensive tone. "I… I don't exactly have anything else going for me. Please, Sam?"

"Dean's not gonna like this…"

Her face twisted up in frustration, "Yeah, I know… please? I'll even say I forced you to let me. I don't care. Please, Sam, I _need_ this."

"Forced you into _what_?" Dean's rough voice sliced through the air. He was leaning against a wall, and his arms were folded over his chest, his head was tilted up as he gazed at them. Sam and Charlotte had snapped their attention in his direction. Charlotte could feel herself shrinking in her seat as another wave of guilt overcame her.

"I… I want to help on this case," She squeaked out, suddenly feeling much younger and tinier. Dean, for whatever reason, definitely had the 'dad effect' on her sometimes. It really pissed her off and weirded her out at the same time. Charlotte forced herself to sit up straighter, "I'm helping."

"_No_, you're not." He barked, his voice brooked no argument, but Charlotte wasn't going down without a fight. No matter how little he made her feel.

"I'm not a child, Dean. I know the _ramifications_ of being a hunter." Her words became stronger the more she spoke, "I don't know if you _remember_, but I had been a hunter too."

He was leaning over her now, and had a hand pressed on the table in front of her. His face was dark, brooding, and his green eyes looked like violent storms.

"Dean… she's got a point," Sam broke in. "She's about as good as us."

"_About_ as good," Dean retorted, his expression a grimace as he stared his younger brother down.

"I don't need you to protect me from this," Charlotte said, her voice gentler, but full of decisiveness."This is my final decision."

* * *

A little over a month ago, Charlotte had called up the Winchester's shivering, sopping wet and hopelessly lost. Not in the sense that she was _actually_ lost, but mentally… Charlotte didn't know where she was. She had no one else to turn to, and the brothers had told her to call them whenever she needed help. Right then, she _desperately_ needed their help.

A few hours later, they'd found her in the rain quietly crying in the palm of her hands. With soothing words and a warm jacket over her shoulders, they took her back to the bunker. Neither one of them had any idea what was going on, but Charlotte refused to give an ounce of detail. She wasn't ready to tell them anything.

After that incident, Charlotte refused to show that weakness again.

Now they were all sitting down and pouring over texts upon texts of different creatures. Apparently, what was initially thought to be vampires ended up being something else… but none of them were sure what that 'something else' was. Besides victims being drained of blood, there were other weird occurrences happening too. Such as limbs being ripped from the bodies, flesh and guts splattered everywhere. Something that could be considered 'out of the norm' for typical vampires.

"Maybe whatever it is…" Charlotte's voice trailed off, "what if it's working with vampires? Or maybe the vampires are getting _really_ creative?"

Dean looked incredibly dubious, but Sam shrugged a shoulder, "Well, it's possible."

Charlotte pressed her forehead on the book she had been looking over. Her brain raced on what else would drain the blood of its victims. The bite marks were way too abnormal to be vampires, but still… her head was aching from an oncoming migraine. She'd forgotten how strenuous and annoying research could be. Especially when you had hardly any leads.

"Oh, hey," Sam piped up, his face illuminated by the laptop in front of him. "There's been another attack. It's about a day's drive from here."

"What're we waiting for? Let's go." Charlotte practically jumped to her feet. She needed to get out of this stuffy bunker before her head exploded.

* * *

They'd arrived at the police station early the next day with the sun inching just above the horizon. Charlotte had donned a uniform of fitted black slacks, a white button up and a pin striped tie at her throat. Her brown, shoulder-length locks were pulled back in a loose bun so only a fringe of hair covered her forehead. With an air of authority, she was the first one to walk in. Even though she stood a good foot shorter than Sam and Dean, the police officers focused entirely on her.

"We've been waitin' on you," One of the officers announced. "This is the _third_ case this week. We were careful not to announce too much detail about the others, because we didn't want to cause panic among the public."

"_Oh?_" Charlotte raised an eyebrow, her hands rested on her hips. "And all of these cases were similar? Were there connections between the victims?"

"_Very_ similar. Nearly identical," The officer, named McKinley, concluded with a heavy nod. "But no. Every victim has been different in one way or another… no connections other than…"

"Bodies being ripped apart and the blood drained?" Sam inquired with a frown.

"Yes, exactly. I'd suggest goin' to the coroner's office, if you haven't been there yet," McKinley glanced between the three of them. "Whoever is doin' this is a complete whack job and needs to be offed soon."

* * *

When they were all out by the Impala, after leaving the police department, Dean lightly rapped his knuckles on the hood of his car, "Three in a week? Sounds like whatever is killing these people are bein' really damn bold."

"Agreed." Sam nodded, his brows pushed together, "I have a feeling we aren't just dealing with a nest of rogue vampires, either. From the look of things… I feel like we've got something much worse on our hands."

"But what…?" Charlotte muttered as she clambered into the front seat. Sam had been nice enough to let her sit shotgun, and she wondered if maybe it had to do with him being worried about her; as if he didn't want to keep her out of his sight. She had told him that she was fine… so she didn't understand the need for his concern.

The coroner's office wasn't very far from the police station, but there was a sprinkle of rain, and no one wanted to walk in the poor weather. The overcast had rushed in quickly after the sun started to rise, blocking out the heated rays and leaving everything grey and dull. Charlotte pulled a coat snug around her shoulders and led them inside.

Someone greeted them almost instantaneously as if they'd been waiting for their arrival. "It's about damn time the FBI showed up. We've been on our toes, and on edge, _all week_. Practically _waiting_ for another death. The police are in a scramble."

"I've noticed," Dean grumbled, offhandedly rolling his eyes as they followed the coroner down a series of hallways.

They were brought to a very clean, organised room with rows of large slots, against one wall, where bodies were placed inside. The entire room had a metallic sheen, the walls cream in color and the floors were plain white tiles speckled with grey flecks. There were a few tables lined neatly beside one another, and there was a body covered in a sheet laid on one of them.

However, the coroner wheeled over a huge bin, and waved his hand, "Well, this is the most recent body… I guess I shouldn't say _body_. More like, bits and pieces. Feel free to _dig_ around." He seemed to laugh at his own words before leaving Sam, Dean and Charlotte to their business.

"Crap. I ain't touchin' that," Dean shuddered as Sam went over to the bin.

"Quit being such a baby, Dean," Sam sighed as he snapped on some gloves and popped the top off. His nose scrunched up at the stale smell and the god awful sight. The body was quite literally chunks and pieces, and the head hardly looked human anymore. Charlotte was hovering nearby, with her own gloves on, and reached down to grab a hunk.

"We better start searching around for _something_," She mumbled, frowning. The marks were all the same as the previous victims. There were long tears and rips, indicating that claws were used. Multiple bite wounds, and jagged lines on the neck, shoulders and face. Hardly any blood was apparent.

After some serious looking around and pushing through flesh and bone, Sam let out a quiet noise of discovery.

"I think you two better look at this," Sam held a small object between his thumb and index, holding it up under a large magnifying glass. He twirled the thing between his fingers, so that they could all get a good look.

"It's a tooth," Dean observed, "what the hell?"

"Another wendigo, you think?" Sam asked, peering between Charlotte and Dean.

"No… it doesn't make sense." Dean shook his head, and his arms were crossed over his chest while he thought. "They don't drain blood. Unless this one is doin' it for kicks."

They had hit a partial dead end, but at least this time they had some sort of advantage. Now they needed to figure what exactly this tooth belonged to.


End file.
